Lost
by Mistress Sorcha
Summary: Preseries. After Sam leaves for Stanford, Dean is left behind, lost, drifting in the aftermath in terms of how he sees himself. Heavy angst awaits inside...


**Setting:** Pre-Season to beginning of Season 1.

**Warning:** Full-on heavy angst! Hurt!Dean, in a mental sort of way…

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the boys John, or anything related to Supernatural. Friggin' Kripke is being a stingy bastard with my toys….

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**Lost**

"You wanna leave this family, don't bother coming back!" John roared.

"You…y-you don't mean that…." Sam choked out.

"The hell I don't! You walk out that door, you stay gone. You leave…you can never come back!" John spit venomously into the gap between him and his youngest.

Sam gaped at him for a moment, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears as he stared at his father. A long, painful moment later, he gathered himself up, squaring his shoulders defiantly, his anger surging up inside him. His wounded eyes gave way to eyes burning with spite and anger. His jaw ground at the myriad of thoughts blazing through his mind. _Fine, if that was they way the old man wanted it, he was gone_. Sam turned and grabbed up his discarded duffle and his messenger bag with his laptop and trudged to the door of the motel. He ripped open the door and stomped through, not even looking back at the remainder of his family as he slammed the door behind him.

Dean was too stunned to do anything. He sat in a state of deep shock for a long time until his mind finally registered that his brother had left without even saying goodbye. He shifted to look at his father for a moment, but John didn't even know he was there. He sat, back turned to the door, cleaning some weapon or another, completely oblivious to the fact that his eldest son was even still in the room. Dean swallowed down the hurt of that fact and took a deep breath. He grabbed the keys to the Impala and stole quietly out of the door. He slipped into the car, the only home he had left now, and took off down the road after his brother. Dean knew there was a bus station somewhere in town and he knew that would likely be Sam's choice of traveling, loathe as he was to steal a car or hitch-hike to California. His little brother had never really liked having to bend or break laws, even if it was for a good reason. He hated all the lying and secrets and the unending wandering over the county that went hand in hand with hunting. In short, Sammy was unable to come to terms with being a hunter as a way of life. He wanted stability, normality, safety…all the things he'd never had the way they had grown up.

Dean had always known his little brother was not cut out to be a hunter. Don't get him wrong, Sammy could handle himself just fine. He was more than competent at handling himself, weapons, researching the hunts, etc…Dean himself had made sure of that. It was just the fact that it wasn't in his nature…in his blood…Dean hadn't had much of a choice. He'd latched on to his father's teachings, assuming his father was protecting them the best he could by making them learn to hunt. He'd known the briefest time of happiness and family before an evil thing had taken his mother and his innocence away. Sammy had never had that. He'd tried, as he raised his little brother, to keep him out of the world of hunting for as long as he could, but eventually, Sam was dragged in after all. Dean would have given anything to give his baby brother the life he wanted…needed…but he couldn't. He didn't know how to any more.

Dean pulled up beside an older man filling up at a gas station. He called out to him, asking if he knew where the bus station was. The man had said yes, as a matter of fact he did. He told Dean to go to the light, turn left, go up 5 blocks make a right and follow the street to the end as it butted up to the station. Dean had thanked him and taken off at speed, hoping to catch his brother on the way, if for nothing else then to say a proper goodbye. Winchester luck, as usual, had him not seeing Sam stalking down the street as he had hoped. He reached the station, jumping from the car almost before he'd even got the keys from the ignition. He raced into the building, rushing to the desk, interrupting the clerk as she was processing tickets for the next person in line. She glared at him venomously, but answered when he asked her if there was a bus to California, Palo Alto being the final destination. She said there was a bus heading to California and with transfers to other buses along the way, yes there was a route to Palo Alto. She informed him that he'd have to catch the one the next morning as the last bus had just signaled they were leaving. He raced out the door amidst her protests, ignoring her as he scanned for the right bus. He saw it as it pulled out, snaking past him as it went. He caught sight of Sam hunched up next to a window toward the back of the bus. The bus picked up speed and though he chased it, waving his arms in the air, trying to get Sam to see him, his efforts were in vain. His brother never once looked up.

Dean stood there panting, standing in the middle of the street, watching as his baby brother drove away from him, probably for good. His shoulders sunk, his head dipping down as he shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered slowly, dejectedly back to his car. A thought struck him as he slid into the decidedly silent and overwhelmingly lonely interior. He slipped his cell out of his pocket, hoping that maybe his brother had called, texted maybe…but there was nothing. He swallowed the lump in his throat, hitting the button to dial his little brother's phone. It rang and rang, finally clicking over to voicemail. Dean's eyes slid shut as his brother's voice sounded over the line, telling the caller to please leave a message. Sam's phone was off. Dean wasn't sure what to do. He started when the phone beeped, signaling him to leave a message. He swallowed heavily, deciding to stop being so weak and to leave a message.

"H-hey, Sammy…uh, I um…I guess I never really got to say goodbye to you and well…I…well, just…um…good luck, little brother…" he said, the phone beeping to signal that his time was up. He slid the phone away from his ear, his hand falling weakly down to his lap.

Dean stared at the phone, not really registering that the call had ended, nor the fact that he could hear a dial tone chirping out of the tinny speaker. Eventually he snapped out of it enough to close the phone. He reached to grip the steering wheel, sighing as he retrieved the keys from his pocket and slid them into the ignition. Starting the car, he turned looking absently at the passenger seat. Where once there had been his gangly, mop-haired little brother crammed into the space there, now there was only silence, emptiness and loneliness. Dean's eyes slipped closed once again of their own volition. He felt tears prickling behind the lids but he refused to cry. He was 22, Goddamnit! He wasn't some whiny bitch…he pushed the heavy, painful emotions away, shoving them roughly behind his ever-present, ever-necessary walls, pounding them into submission until he was sure he was in control once more. Dean slipped his Baby into gear and tore out into the night, back to the motel.

At the motel, he pulled in, noting the marked absence of his father's truck in the lot. The room was dark, he saw as much through the window. Dean slipped his key into the hole and let himself in. What he found once he flipped on the lights was painfully surprising. He absently took note of the door swinging quietly shut behind him. He couldn't move. He'd thought, seeing his father's car gone from the lot, that John had tore off to some bar to lick his wounds. Looking around the room now, Dean saw a much different picture. John's duffle was gone. All his research material, weapons, belongings…gone. His father was gone.

Dean stood on ever more unsteady legs, taking in the scene with unbelieving eyes. His father had left him. Sammy had left…and now so had John…He couldn't deal with this…he turned and stumbled back out the door, heading for the all night market up the street, once there he grabbed up multiple bottles of cheap whiskey, paying and stumbling out as the clerk, a sour old man with a hard-used face, looked on. Dean couldn't stomach going back to the room right now so he climbed into the Impala, unceremoniously dropping his bags on the floorboard and sliding the key home in the ignition. He slipped her into gear and peeled out of the lot in search of the nearest bar.

Hours later, after last call had dumped him out onto the street, he drove back to the motel. Blind drunk and absolutely not caring, he fumblingly took the bags of liquor and stumbled back inside the room. Dean swept a heavy hand over the light switch, turning them off after depositing the liquor bottles on the shaky table under the window. He stumbled to the bed, falling face first onto the mattress. The heavy liquor coursing in his veins let him pass out soon thereafter.

Dean awoke the next day, his head pounding. He cracked one eye open far enough to check the clock. 3:17pm….huh…he'd really must have been smashed…he let the bleary eye wander over the room. No sign of John. Dean swallowed thickly, laying miserably in a uncomfortable position for as long as he could stand before he finally rolled over and flopped down spread-eagle on the mattress. His uncoordinated fingers struggled to pry his phone out of his pocket, thinking…hoping…that Sam or his father or both had at least called him back. No blinking light…no missed calls or new messages. Dean groaned, dropping the phone beside him on the bed. He scrubbed a rough palm over his face, steeling himself for a long moment before he picked up the phone and dialed John's number. Dean had only a few rings to wait before it went voice mail. Dean waited dutifully for the beep then started talking before he lost his nerve.

"Hey, sir…um, I don't know where you're headed, but um…did you want me to meet up with you? I can back you up if you've got a case or whatever…Uh…ok, um…just give me a call, dad…" *beeeeeeep….* the tone sounded, letting him know his time was up.

Dean snapped the phone shut, dropping it beside him on the bed. He rolled haphazardly out of bed, peeling out of his leather jacket as he stumbled to the bathroom. He stripped down, staggering into the bathtub/shower and cranked up the water. '_**I can at least be ready when dad calls to let me know if he wants back up or if he has another case for me to handle…'**_ he thought to himself…20 minutes later, he wandered out of the bathroom, letting the towel fall away as he tugged on a new pair of boxers, and jeans and a semi-clean t-shirt. He set himself down on the bed to wait.

As the hours passed by, alternated between sitting on the lumpy mattress, pacing the already well worn floor, and cleaning the weapons cache he'd acquired over the years. Hours passed and nothing. He'd checked and rechecked his phone battery, assuring it was fully charged. No one called. By 9:07 am the next morning, he passed out from waiting.

Dean awoke with a start hearing a blaring horn sounding from a passing semi truck on the highway that was only a short distance from the motel he was in. He checked the clock…5:01pm. His glance slid to the phone on the night stand. No blinking light. No one had called. Dean felt hot tears building in his eyes, the heavy emotions behind them spilling out from behind his protective walls before he could push them down again. He stumbled to the table, near-frantically snatching up the first bottle he could lay hands on. A blur of desperate energy and a few moments later, he was tilting the bottle back and decanting the golden liquid heat down his parched throat. Dean didn't stop until he found he couldn't breathe properly before he finally let the bottle slip away from his lips as he panted to catch his breath. The world tilted and swayed as he stumbled back to the bed's edge and sunk down on it. Dean sat there, taking deep tilts from the bottle until there was nothing left. He let it drop from his finger to the mangy carpet below. Unable to move without the world swaying violently around him, Dean drug himself back onto the bed and collapsed into the awaiting darkness, letting the alcohol carry him away into an oblivious, dreamless sleep.

When consciousness finally reared its ugly head once again, Dean swiveled just far enough to see that the phone was still not blinking. The clock read 8:57pm...of the next day…'**_Shit_**'...Dean thought as shook his head for a moment, trying to clear the cobwebs, unfortunately finding that that wasn't really the best idea after all…He scrambled off the bed, stumbling blindly into the bathroom, falling and catching the edge of the toilet just as the bile surged up out of his throat. Heaving and panting over the bowl until he felt like death warmed over, he lay his head down on his arm to rest and ride out the lingering waves of nausea. He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, there was a pounding at the door. He let out a pitiful groan and drug himself toward the offending source of the noise. His body and head throbbed and he wanted nothing more then to just collapse and not move til it passed, but the noise was incessant and the shouting accompanying it was too harsh on his ears to ignore. Dean opened the door, peering out at the man that had awoken him so rudely. Dean recognized him as the motel manager. Dean groaned as the man glared at him.

"You need to vacate the room or pay to keep it…" the mangy, greasy looking man growled out.

"What? Thought we were paid through Friday…" Dean mumbled.

"Yeah, you were…it's Saturday morning…like I said…you gotta pay up or leave…" the man said, eyeing him warily.

Shit…he had managed to drink himself right into a coma of sorts for over a day and a half…. and he'd been there alone for 5 plus days…Dean groaned again…5 days…not a word from Sammy or his father…Dean fumbled in his pockets, pulling out his wallet. He pulled out 3 fifties, handing them to the motel manager. The motel manager checked them over before speaking up once again.

"This buys you 5 more days…" he said as he walked away.

"Great…" Dean mumbled as he turned, shutting the door behind him.

Dean's legs wobbled badly. '**_Need ta eat something_…**' he thought. Not that he cared, or was even hungry, but he knew if he didn't, he'd be in some serious trouble. He rummaged in the mini-fridge, dragging out the left over pizza. It didn't smell remotely appetizing to him, but he choked down the last several slices anyway. His body protested unhappily. Having only alcohol for days, he was dehydrated and malnourished. Dean grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and chugged it down. He chucked the now empty bottle across the room and took another. Plopping down on the bed, his gaze drifted to the bleakly black phone on the night table. He debated on whether or not to call his errant father or absent brother again. He hated groveling, but he was starting to get a really worried, not that he'd admit to it, but still...Making up his mind, he dialed his brother first. It went to voice mail after several rings.

"Hey Sammy…I just…look, um…at least let me know you made it to California all right…Please, dude? Just a quick call or a text or something, man…" the tone sounded again and he hung up.

Next, Dean dialed John. It went straight to voicemail. Dean didn't bother to leave a message. He dropped the phone on the stand again and set the water bottle down. He walked back to the table, grabbing another bottle of booze, dragging himself back to the bed. He flipped on the TV just to have some sound in the silent room and set to work drinking the whiskey as he sightlessly stared at the TV's wavering picture. It was sometime after the sun set, after Dean had finished the bottle, that he had passed out. When he awoke the next morning, Dean saw the phone flashing. He grabbed it, seeing he had a text. It was from Sam.

'Made it here. Busy with classes. Don't know when I'll be able to talk again. Take care of yourself. Sam.' it read.

Dean closed the phone, relieved his brother had made it ok, but hurt that Sam was basically telling him not to bother him. He wasn't to be a part of his little brother's life anymore. 18 years of raising the kid…loving him, teaching him, protecting him…and Sam was telling him goodbye and good riddance. Dean scrubbed a rough palm over his face, the tears coming to eyes and spilling unhindered in burning trails down his face. His baby brother… best friend…son, for all intents and purposes…wanted him out of his life. There was no room in his new, "normal" life for reminders of his former life, Dean guessed.

Dad hadn't called either. Somehow, Dean knew his father was ok. He knew nothing was keeping his father from calling him except himself. John just didn't have any use for him any more. Sammy was gone. He didn't need Dean there to watch over his little brother now. He didn't need a replaceable soldier around when he'd lost the only son he'd really wanted or cared for when Sam had gone.

The pain and overwhelming loneliness surged up inside him, blinding him, making him lash out around him. He tipped the table over, the bottles crashing to the ground. None of them smashed that he heard, but he wasn't really listening… He stumbled to the wall, punching and kicking the cheap wood-paneled wall until the holes were numerous and his hands were bloody and throbbing. He knew he had fractured or broken at least a couple of bones but he didn't care. He leaned heavily on the wall until his legs gave out and he slid to the ground in a heap. Turning, he leaned back against the wall and let the tears fall until his eyes dried out. He sat there in the dark room, the TV playing quietly, its flickering light dimly lighting the room. Still he sat there, unable to summon the will to move.

No one wanted him. He was expendable…forgettable…unlovable. He was just a solidier, a tool to be used. Dean sat there, hour after hour, the sun's movements tracking across the windows, slanting rays breaking through and falling on the bed and floor until the sun set again. Finally, Dean couldn't take it anymore. He stood, his body weak and painfully broken. Stumbling through the room, he gathered his belongings, lugging them unsteadily out to his car until there was nothing left to carry. He left the door unlocked and the key on the now upright table. Looking once more over the place were his small, broken family had finally shattered completely, he turned and weakly slid into the car, pulling away and leaving the place and all it's unbearable memories behind.

Dean drove aimlessly, stopping only when he could barely function anymore. He ate sporadically, drinking himself to sleep whenever he finally did stop to rest. Almost a month had passed since he'd been left behind. He'd never felt so lost…not even when his mother had died. At least then, he had his baby brother to take care of…to distract him from the pain and sadness, knowing he'd lost something that night that he would never have again. He drifted in the nothingness, not caring if he lived or died because really…who'd care if he was gone?

Just short of the 4 week mark, his phone rang. At first, he couldn't identify what was disturbing his stupor. Then, in a flash of clarity, he dug his phone out of his duffle and answered it.

"Hello?" he said roughly.

"Dean. Get to Kansas City, MS. Poltergist. 513 Turning Leaf Lane." John commanded over the line before the line went dead.

Dean let the hand with the phone slide away from his ear, dropping heavily into his lap. He stared at it blankly for a long time. His father finally calls and all he wants is for Dean to do a job. Dean hadn't thought he could feel any more lonely or unloved until that moment right then and there. He had proof positive that all he was to his father was a soldier, never a son. Not ever again since the night his mother had died. The tears leaked from his eyes again and he let them. Long after they dried up, he sat there still, motionless. Finally, the part of his brain that never was able to disobey his father, the one that had been so heavily reinforced in his mind when he'd all most gotten his brother killed by the Striga, prodded him to get up. He stood heavily, gathering his things and hauling them to the car. He slid behind the wheel and in a haze, he took off for Kansas City. He took care of the poltergeist, as ordered. That night, somehow his father knew he'd finished the job and called him again. Again he was directed to a job and hung up on before he could even get a word in. Time after time, he was directed to a job. He always did the best he could, determined to be the best hunter he could be, even though he was cold, empty, and dead inside. Sometimes, when he was drunk enough to make himself grovel, he called his little brother. More often than not, he got the voicemail. A few times, though his little brother had answered. They had proceeded to have extremely short and awkward conversations which ultimately ended with Sam saying 'I gotta go. Take care of yourself.' Click…no goodbyes...no love…guess he should be used to it by now…

It was almost a year before his father called him and told him to join him for a hunt because he needed back up. Seeing his father again, there wasn't a hint of remorse or love or anything but cold, clinical detachment from John. Dean swallowed down the tiny flicker of hope that had somehow managed to survive inside him that his father still loved him, needed him after all. He was just a necessary tool. He should see that by now, but somehow, his tender heart never let him give up the hope that someday he would be loved…needed…wanted. They did the job, both coming through unscathed. They had barely been done with it before John was loading up and driving away, leaving Dean with instructions for his next gig.

In the nearly 3 years that followed, his father stopped calling. Dean kept track of him mostly, Pastor Jim or Caleb only a call away to know about where John had got himself to at that moment in time. After almost 2 year at the school, Sam had stopped answering and hadn't called him either. In the year and a half after that, when Sam's graduation was being planned for and his final term was about to start, that was when Dean had gotten a uncharacteristic message from their father. It was far longer then John had bothered to leave in years and it was heavily distorted with interference, which Dean immediately recognized as EVP. Dean called up Caleb, tracking John to a case regarding a two-lane blacktop in Jericho, California. Jericho was within driving distance of Palo Alto…of Stanford…of Sam…Dean knew he shouldn't bother his brother. He knew he should track down their father and leave Sam out of it since his brother had made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with his family. Thing was, Dean hadn't been able to feel anything for years...not since his family had left him behind. Nothing but pain and loneliness, that is…It was numbing, killing by inches as it slowly devoured him from the inside out. He desperately wanted to see his brother. He needed to see Sam. He thought maybe, just maybe Sam would still love him and maybe Sam would save him from the slow death Dean had been going through since the night Sam had gone for good.

Dean felt sick, his heart and stomach doing flips inside him. He'd scoped out Sam's apartment before, making sure it was safe from a great distance, giving Sam the space he needed, but still watching out for him. It was his job. Even if Sam didn't want him in his life anymore, Dean would still hold true to doing his job. He broke in the building easily, clambering in through a open window in what Dean knew was the living room. He was making his way in the dark to the kitchen to grab a beer to bear up his tattered nerves when he was jumped. Dean realized it was Sam who'd got the best of him and he let it play out, seeing just how much his brother remembered before he pinned him to the ground, tacking on a wide, cheesy grin, though his heart was pounding and he was sick inside and he was wary of the fact the his brother hadn't wanted him to come near ever again.

Sam realized who it was and was confronting him when Jess strolled in, flicking on the lights. Dean asked to speak privately but Sam refused, so Dean hit him with the truth, though it was the muted version, so he didn't give away their family secret to a civilian. Sam practically dragged him outside, trying to send him away. He showed Sam their dad's message and even then, Sam didn't want to help. Dean broke a little bit, letting Sam see that he wasn't as strong as he'd wanted to always be for his family. Finally Sam caved, out of pity, Dean knew, but still, he was in for the hunt. Taking off after that, having Sam in the place he had formerly filled…it felt bittersweet. Dean wanted nothing more then to beg him to stay, but he didn't have it in him.

The Woman In White case resolved and still no dad and Sammy was telling him to take him back…his future was riding on an interview the next day and he'd humored Dean as far as he was going to. Dean dropped his baby brother off, the bittersweet memories of the last time he'd seen his brother's retreating form tugged at him incessantly. He'd practically begged Sam to go with him to the coordinates their father apparently had left for them, but Sam had brushed it off. He'd done what he said he would and he was done. Dean was an unwelcome visitor and Sam was, in no uncertain terms, telling him to leave. A flippant 'Call me when you find dad' thrown out to Dean as he walked away. '**_As if you'd answer the phone'_** Dean thought.

Pulling away, something felt wrong. He'd always had a sixth sense about the well-being of his family, his baby brother in particular. He whipped the powerful car around, barreling head- long back to Sam's apartment. He could feel the evil lurking there. He raced to Sam's door, kicking it and surged down the hall to his bedroom. He could see the flames licking out from the ceiling, feel the heat screaming through the air. He heard his brother's plaintive cries emanating from the open door way. He grabbed up his brother, dragging him away, grabbing his discarded duffle along the way and practically carrying his giant of a brother away from his burning girlfriend and home. Sam fought him for a while but eventually, he settled into emotionless void, barely talking, even to him, barely moving a muscle. Dean couldn't help flashing back to the scattered memories of that night he'd seen his mother that same way. His father had caught him before he'd made it all the way to the door, but he'd still seen…Now he had another memory to lay over the top of it, merging them for long moments in his mind.

Now, Sam had the horror making a home in his own mind as well. This made three generations of Winchester men, all with memories of the horror of seeing someone close to them burning alive after being tortured. Admittedly, he'd barely known Jessica, but he knew his brother well and he knew she was a good woman. His brother would never had been involved with her other wise. He knew she was bright and pretty. She was clever and witty. He knew she made his baby brother happy. For that alone, Dean felt he could love her. Now he saw how lost Sam was. He was just as lost as Dean was now, but in a completely different way. Though it made him sick, Dean was kind of glad to have the company…Misery loves company and all that…

The toll it would take on Sam, though…he would never wish that upon anyone, most especially not his baby brother. For all the pain and sorrow he felt, seeing Sam's, feeling Sam's…it just made Dean feel all the more that they had been right to distance themselves from him, his family had. He brought nothing but death and pain to all he touched and now his tattered family was deeply wounded because of it. Thinking back on that long ago day when his brother and father had left him behind, Dean had felt lost, betrayed…unloved and unwanted. Now he saw that they were just trying to escape the misery he brought upon whomever he loved. Looking back, he wished more than anything in the world that he'd had the courage to die. He wished he'd had the courage to let them find their peace and purpose without him. He'd been selfish, though. He'd stayed alive, a living reminder of all that was lost and all that they'd forever be bound to because of him. It was all down to him…the weakest Winchester of them all…

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**A/N:** Okie Dokie!!! New story for y'all!! I have a couple of others written but not typed yet, too, so I'll be hopefully able to get those up and running soon, too.

I haven't decided if this is going to be a one shot or if I'll continue it yet, so for now, I'll leave it as "In Progress" until I decide.

**As always, please, please, PLEASE Read & Review!!! (They are my deep-fried crack…. ;) )**

Also, check out my Supernatural line of jewelry I have for sale on eBay, including replicas of the **Mary Winchester Hunter's Protection** bracelet (as seen in the episode **'In the Beginning'**) and the **Dean Winchester Skull** bracelet (worn from **season 2 to present**), and other Superntaural-themed bracelets!!!

My newest piece is the **Castiel-themed ****"Have A Little Faith In Me"** charm bracelet. Please, check out the link and tell me what ya think!!!

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Thank you everybody for reading my work!! *hugs*


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